Secrets
by Slash Lovuh
Summary: Shawn wanted to keep Cory a secret. Slash. May be slightly out of character.


Title: Secrets  
Summary: Shawn and Cory slash. Shawn doesn't want anybody to know that he's gay, so he keeps his and Cory's relationship a secret.  
Authors Note: Rated for two swear words.

He was my entire world. To this day, I sometimes wonder whether or not I was truly in love, or whether it was simply an obsessive fixation. I think about it often, picturing his face in my mind, how he was, how he could have been. And of course, my conclusion is always the same: He was, he is, my world. I loved him more than I will ever love again.

Sometimes, when we were alone, I would inform him that he was breathtaking. He would smile, and tell me to shut up. He was painfully notorious for his modesty, but I loved making him blush. So I would speak the truth, and he couldn't help but to smile, and that smile was my reason for living.

And then, there was her. She would wrap herself around him, and he would kiss her. Everybody watching would cheer, as a euphoric look crossed his face, and I that was all I needed to know that I was only proof of his imperfection. But I loved him, and I would become an ostensible silhouette in the corner of the crowd, the only wan face, watching as the most popular boy in our school kissed Angela Moore – a girl who had always been faceless to me. She was his extravagant diamond ring, wrapped tightly around his finger, to shine for crowds and parties. And I was but a mere shadow in the most clandestine cavern of his life.

I still remember that night. We were in my room. I was playing Solitaire on my desk, and he was lying on my bed, propping himself up with his elbows. I couldn't stand to look at him. His eyes -- too magnificent to be called brown -- a deep, thick, topaz, scintillating at the slightest hint of emotion, seemed to be following me. Finally, I had had enough. With a furtive laugh, not meant for his ears, I turned around.

"What?" I asked plainly, crossing my arms across my chest. In his presence, I felt so small. He deserved better than me, he deserved Angela.

But he was smiled at me, giving me the illusion that I was his world, too. He didn't answer my question.

"Dude, why are you looking at me like that?" And I couldn't restrain a giggle, perhaps born of trepidation.

"You look different tonight." He said slowly, studying me.

And within seconds, I was no longer affable. My smile dropped, and I turned back to my computer game. I knew that I looked different, but I didn't want to explain why. I didn't want to explain how much his being with her hurt me. I wanted – for a moment, only a moment – to pretend that she had been born on the furthest corner of the Earth, and had never entered our lives.

My silence disturbed him.

"What's wrong? Come on…"

When I didn't answer, he changed the subject, although I knew the matter was not yet dropped.

"My dad's been a little crazy lately… you think I could spend the night here again?" He asked, a casualty in his tone that almost flattered me.

I nodded; anything to keep him from his father, especially after Chet had been drinking.

"Thanks, Cory, just for tonight." He sang, "Now, come tell me why you look so sad."

I rolled my eyes, trying to be confrontational. But I couldn't – not while looking down the barrel of his eyes, his deadliest weapon. In another world, I climbed out of my computer chair, and into his arms, begging him to stop seeing her, begging him to love me more. But in reality, I studied him carefully, before deciding that it wasn't safe.

But he was persistent.

And finally, words as his weapon, he lured me from the safety of my chair to come and sit next to him. "Now, tell me." He asked again, "What's the matter?"

The story must have been too big for me, because within seconds, the question tumbled from my mouth. "Do you love her?"

It could have ended at that moment. He could have confirmed, told me yes, he did love her. And I would have yielded. I would have taken the bullet, I would have let go of everything to make him happy, to let him run through the sunflower fields to the girl, leaving me in his shadow. But his answer was confusing. "It's different."

And although I knew, instantly, blindingly, what he meant, I dared to ask the question: "How?"

The moment I asked the question, I wanted to take it back. I wanted him to hold me, and never answer, and pretend that everything was perfect. Pretend that I was good enough, pretend that life was fair. I wanted to hide in his arms from the stalking truth, but I couldn't.

"It's different in a lot of ways, Cory. I love you, but it's different."

It was the first time he had ever told me that he loved me, although I had pledged my affection to him countless times. I decided to wait a moment before responding, but when I did, my words traipsing weakly from my mouth and breaking over invisible glass, were barely a whisper. "Don't tell me how it's different." I requested, and he wrapped his arms around me.

When he left, I cried. I was trapped between misery and rage, and in my indecision, I began to sob.

I walk into the school building, and she's crying. She's staring out the window, as if he's about to come down the school's footpaths, wearing the same jacket, the same smile. She's crying as if he belonged to her, and to my dismay he did, more than he belonged to me at least. I want to strangle her – fucking whore– for treating him as if he was her everything.

But who am I to judge? He was everything to me too.

There's going to be an assembly today, to commemorate him. I still don't understand. I still don't understand how something as small as a car could kill him, and something as small as an assembly could serve as his memorial; but then, life isn't always about understanding.

She spoke at his funeral. She got up in front of everybody, and told them how wonderful he was. They didn't ask me to, because nobody knew that I had been in love with him.

But he doesn't have to worry. I didn't cry until I got home. I'll keep his secrets.


End file.
